"Shadow Game" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feehan Christine)

glass barrier around his cage, leaving it for the guards.
Two
THE sea was angry. Waves rose up, cresting high, a boiling cauldron of dark
rage. White foam was left behind on the cliffs as the water receded, only to
return, reaching ever higher. Reaching with hunger and fury, with deadly intent.
The dark, fathomless waters spread, a dark eye seeking. Hunting. Turning toward
her.
Lily wrenched herself awake, fighting for air. Her lungs burned. She pressed the
button to bring the window down. Slightly disoriented, she told herself it was a
dream, nothing but a dream. Cool air rushed in and she inhaled deeply. She
noticed with relief that they were nearly to the house, already on the estate
property. "John, would you mind stopping the car? I feel like walking." She
managed to keep her voice steady, in spite of the way her heart pounded in
alarm. She detested the nightmares that so often plagued her sleep.
Lily had wanted to dream of Captain Ryland Miller, but she'd dreamt of death and
violence. Of voices calling to her, of death beckoning with a bony finger.
The chauffeur glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "You're wearing high heels,
Miss Lily," he pointed out. "Are you ill?"
She could see her reflected image. Pale, eyes too big for her face, dark
circles. She looked like hell. Her chin lifted. "I don't mind the heels, John. I
need the exercise." She needed to get the remnants of the nightmare out of her
mind. The oppressive feeling of danger, of being hunted, was still accelerating
her heart rate. Lily tried to appear normal, avoiding John's gaze in the mirror.
He had known her all of her life, and he was already concerned with the shadows
in her eyes.
Why did she have to look so pale and uninteresting just when she finally met a
man she connected with? He was so gorgeous. So intelligent. SoЕ everything. She
had walked into the meeting without one iota of information and had come off
looking a complete fool rather than a woman of extraordinary intelligence.
Miller probably dated model-thin blonds with big breasts, women who hung on his
every word. Lily brushed a hand over her face, hoping to wipe away the
nightmares that refused to allow her rest. Hoping to rid herself of the image of
Ryland Miller embedded in her brain. He had somehow branded himself deep into
her flesh and bones.
Come here to me.
His voice had whispered through her body, heated her blood, melted her insides.
Lily hadn't wanted to look at him. She had been all too aware of the cameras.
All too aware she knew nothing of men. She was bewildered by her father's
behavior, bewildered by the sheer weight of her attraction to Ryland Miller. And
she had run like a rabbit, wanting to find her father and learn what was
happening.
The limousine slowed to a stop on the long, well-paved road winding through the
enormous estate up to the main house. Lily hastily climbed out, not wanting to
risk further conversation. John leaned out his window and studied her for a long
moment. "You aren't sleeping again, Miss Lily."
Lily smiled at him as she pushed a hand through her thick mass of dark hair. The
chauffeur claimed he was still in his early sixties, but she suspected he was
probably in his seventies. He acted more like a relative than a driver and she
could never see him in any other light than as beloved family. "You're right,"
she said. "I'm having those strange dreams I get once in a while. I'm trying to